rough water
by cedricsowner
Summary: Good pilots are worth their weight in gold and harder to find than a needle in a haystack, so it's strategically advantageous to treat them politely and with respect. Yeah, maybe someone should tell Guerrero... I added another bonus chapter.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.**

"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT?"

One of the things Christopher Chance totally admired about women was their widespread ability to shout with a hushed voice. Winston was pretty good at it, too, but Maureen Gray surely surpassed him by far. Standing in the tiny hallway of the row house she shared with her husband – what was his name again? Steven? Spencer? – she showed all signs of great agitation: Tense shoulders, fighting stance, twisted face and her voice was as fierce as a fighting cat's, but its sound level never rose above that of a whisper. He put on his most charming smile: "Since things clicked so well last time we wondered if you'd like to work for us again."

_"Clicked so well?_ The only thing that _clicked_ last time I "worked" for you was the safety catch of the gun this psychopath associate of yours used to force me into flying a deathtrap of a plane under minimum flight level, over a burning vineyard while we were being shot at and you were trying to pull somebody from a careening jeep into the cargo hold!" Definitely angry, she wiped a strand of dark auburn hair out of her face and looked over Chance's shoulder into his parked car on the driveway. "I see you haven't brought him today. Smart move of that baldheaded walrus to send you instead, poster boy, but forget it. I should call the cops!"

"You would be flying an MI-8MTV-5 this time…"

Her eyes widened in surprise. "But they're brand new on the market, costs stand at around 10 million$ a piece, how…" She caught herself. "You've heard me well. I quit flying a long time ago, I like being alive and I have no intention at all to ever even breath the same air as you people again!"

"Are you sure you don't want to get away from your mother-in-law for a while?"

Maureen's face turned pale with anger: "Are you spying on me?"

Chance lifted the pink-white porcelain figure of a rosy-cheeked ballet dancer from the tiny table under the wall mirror. "This…" he weighed the item in his hands "…is totally unlike you. You would have never wasted your hard-earned money on it, so it must be a gift. A gift that you usually don't display on this table because the wood of the surface is completely bleached by the sunlight. If this thing always stood here, a tiny spot would have kept the original color. My guess is you hate this ugly dust-gatherer and stash it away somewhere most of the time. It only comes out when the giver shows up for a visit. And since this is a typical "My-son-is-too-good-for-you"-mother-in-law gift, I think you've got a visitor right now."

She opened her mouth to contradict him, but at this very moment a rather high-pitched (as in screeching-trapdoor-hinge high-pitched) female voice yelled from the back of the house: "Maureen! I've just moved the fridge away from the wall and there must be a ton of dust gathered behind it. Don't you ever clean up there?"

"Even if I wanted to, I couldn't leave. We're going to have a big family dinner tomorrow evening. My sisters-in-law are coming down from Minneapolis, they're bringing their husbands and their children…" Her face showed signs of exasperation.

"The job is a piece of cake! You fly us in, you fly us out, you'll be back tomorrow morning at ten and have all the time in the world to prepare for the big event."

Before she could say anything, another voice, a male one this time, could be heard, coming from upstairs: "Maureen! Mother is calling for you! You could really lend her a hand since she's so nice to help you get the house ready for Heather and Fran. You know how they are, they'll surely check if you…" Footsteps came down the stairs and a middle-aged man with little hair and huge glasses came into view. "Oh, I didn't know someone was at the door…" He looked at his wife questioningly.

"Maureen!" The high-pitched voice again. "Take a look at what I found underneath the stove!"

"MI-8MTV-5", Chance mouthed.

Maureen's facial expression changed from exasperated to determined. "Darling, I'm sorry, but some unexpected developments at work have come up… My boss is at a conference, remember? Looks like he got himself into a bit of a tight spot, bookkeeping-wise. I need to go on an overnight trip to sort things out."

Furrowing his brow, the man readjusted his glasses in an unnervingly correct gesture. "You make it sound like a national emergency broke out and they've called you to save the world."

Eyes rolling, his wife sidestepped him and ascended the stairs. Slightly befuddled, he followed her: "Maurie, you're a vet's secretary. What could be so important that you drop everything the day before our traditional family get-together?"

She stopped abruptly and turned on her heels to face him directly: "Remember the bonus I received last month? Wouldn't it be nice to get another one?"

A couple of minutes later Mrs. Gray dumped her travel bag on the backseat of Chance's car, only to discover that Guerrero had been hiding there the whole time, listening in via ear piece. "_You're a vet's secretary, Maurie._ Whoa, could he have phrased that any more belittling?"

"Stuart is a good man and he didn't mean it that way", she snarled in reply.

"Yeah, let's call it a compliment in disguise."

Chance grinned broadly to himself while heading down the road towards the airfield where the helicopter was waiting. Guerrero and Maureen Gray were a highly entertaining combination. Throw in Winston and the heavily-armed crew that was standing between them and his new client held hostage on a container vessel, the next 24 hours were definitely going to be fun.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.**

"A PIECE OF CAKE! You said this job would be A PIECE OF CAKE!"

"I don't think shouting at Chance in his current situation is helpful", Guerrero, who was operating the radio equipment, remarked.

"_Helpful?_ I don't care whether it's _helpful_ or not! HE doesn't have his in-laws from hell coming over for dinner and nothing – NOTHING – is prepared yet!" Maureen one more time adjusted the helicopter's altitude by slightly touching the collective control, used the cyclic to pitch its nose down a little and corrected the engine speed with the pedals. In order not to alert the crew to their route of escape she had to keep her distance from the ship till Chance and the client were on deck and ready to be taken away. Radio contact with him was on and off, at the moment it had apparently broken off again, but Chance also had a flare pistol. In theory nothing could go wrong. In theory… Getting to the target had proven more difficult than expected and the kidnappers had become aware of Chance's presence on board.

"Yeah, that's definitely worse than getting shot at by kidnappers on a container vessel while a storm is brewing up."

"You don't understand!" The freshening wind required another adjustment of the rotor blades' AOA. "They're horrible! Plain horrible! Last time Heather actually read through the old pages of my wall calendar and told me at dinner table, right after prayer, that I needed to see my gynecologist more often! And Fran informed Stuart that she could have cooked the same dinner with half as much fat!"

"There are men out there who actually have a backbone, you know?" Guerrero's wolfish tone of voice didn't leave much room for interpretation whom he was talking about.

"You want to jeopardize the mission by causing me to throw up?" Maureen carefully yawed the helicopter a little to the right. Fine rain had set in. "Try hitting on me like that again!"

Guerrero opened his mouth for a sarcastic reply when suddenly the title song of the old TV series "Airwolf" could be heard. Maureen's mobile, which she had left at their contemporary HQ at the harbor, was ringing. Winston reached out to switch it off, but his perennial adversary was faster. "Your husband is calling – I'll put him on speaker", he said, evil grin on his face.

"Maurie? Maurie, are you there?" Stuart Gray was too wrapped up in his own concerns to wait for his wife to respond. "Where are you? It's not that I don't have the utmost confidence in your planning and organizational skills, but Fran has told me that that fat free meal she gave you the recipe for takes some preparation time and Heather has repeatedly pointed out to me that cooking under stress negatively influences the quality of the outcome, so maybe you should hurry your return home a little… Oh, by the way, remember a month ago, when I told you that we had bought five oranges and you insisted there were only four? Mother found the missing one shriveled up under the washing machine…"

Guerrero cut the connection. "I'm just saying…", he smirked, sort of a sing-song in his voice.

"You don't really think I would even remotely be interested in a man who pointed a gun at my head less than a month ago?" Furrowing her brow Maureen watched the attitude indicator. She didn't like what she saw. Not at all. At the moment the weather situation was tolerable, but all signs indicated a drastic change soon. "Hurry up, Chance", she quietly urged him on.

"It was an emergency. We desperately needed a pilot", Winston chimed in, as polite as possible. "Through the credit card accounts in that diner's automated restaurant management system we hacked into the present customer's personal data and you were the only one with a pilot license. "We're terribly sorry…"

"You are sorry. Chance might be. But _he_ definitely isn't", Maureen responded angrily.

"We needed a pilot and you were available", Guerrero confirmed matter-of-factly.

"AVAILABLE?"

Winston pretended to hit Guerrero on the shoulder without actually touching him. "Don't do that!", he growled with a low voice. "You know how scarce we are on pilots and she's the best one we've had in years! Don't drive her away!"

"She's an adrenaline junkie who has been on a long withdrawal. Nothing will drive her away."

"Sorry to interrupt…", Chance's voice came crackling over the radio, "…but I could do with some aerial support here."

"About time", Maureen grumbled, rolling into the ever-strengthening wind while a thin bolt of lightning struck in the distance.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.**

They had originally planned for the helicopter to pick them up from the roof above the bridge since that was the highest spot on the ship and easiest to reach. Given the new circumstances, that wasn't an option anymore. After finally finding the client in a heavily guarded storage room deep down in the hull of the vessel, Chance's next, less exciting discovery was that the young man was badly injured. The kidnappers had apparently beaten him up, kicked in his ribs and broken his jaw. Bad business practices, very bad business practices, but they had already heard something in that direction from the fishermen at the harbor. The client was unable to walk on his own and needed Chance to support him. The former assassin would have loaded him on his back and carried him completely, but the pressure could have caused the young man's lungs to collapse, he couldn't risk that.

"Maureen!", Chance shouted by radio, "I need you to land on the deck! I'll fire the flare pistol so you'll know where we are!"

Winston and Guerrero picked up the gun's signal on one of their monitors and Guerrero immediately connected it with a layout of the ship. "That's in one of the narrow alleys between two rows of containers. They're piled up over 200 ft. high. That's a damn steep valley to dive into with a helicopter…" Winston was worried.

"The rain is getting heavier and the wind is still picking up", Guerrero stated, checking the weather forecast. "The wave height is still okay, the vessel isn't swaying too much yet. But they need to hurry up."

"If one of the rotor blades touches a container…" Winston didn't want to finish the sentence. Three lives depended on that helicopter staying intact.

"I can do it", Maureen stated firmly. Seconds later the connection broke off.

"The approaching thunderstorm keeps interrupting the signal", Guerrero explained. Face unreadable, he pushed his chair backwards and got up.

"Where are you going?", Winston demanded to know.

"Making some private calls", he replied curtly and left the room.

Carefully Maureen lowered the helicopter into the narrow space between two towering rows of containers. The wind was coming on in heavy gusts now and the pouring rain significantly reduced her visual range. "_Piece of cake!_", she cursed. As she slowly approached the ground, she noticed sounds of rapid gunfire not too far in the distance. Thank God the MI-8MTV-5 had originally been designed by the Russians for combat missions in Chechnya. A crackle in her earphones indicated that radio communication was working again. She quickly summed up the situation for Winston and Guerrero. "The helicopter is bulletproof. As long as they don't start throwing hand grenades everything will be fine once Chance and the client have made it in here…"

"Don't say that kind of thing!", Winston reprimanded her.

"Why…?" At that very moment a loud explosion shook the aircraft. Maureen turned around. At the end of the alley a huge fireball erupted high into the air. "Ah, I see…".

"Everything okay?"

"Chance just emerged from the flash of an explosion, dragging the client with him…" The young man was barely conscious. Maureen slid the cabin door open and let the aircraft hover a few feet above ground to make the quickest escape possible.

"Oh, don't worry, he does that all the time", Winston sighed.

"Sorry for the delay!" With buckling knees Chance loaded the client into the helicopter, no small feat, considering that the young man was not exactly a string bean. Every muscle in Maureen's body waited for his signal to take off, but almost a minute went by and the client's lower body half was still dangling outside.

"What are you waiting for? Get the hell out of there!", Guerrero, back at the radio, barked.

"Chance is still outside, he…." Another explosion shook the helicopter, only much, much closer this time. The terrible screeching of bursting metal filled the air and Maureen thought the tail boom had been hit till she realized with relief that it was the wall right next to them that was displaying a giant gaping hole now. Then she saw that Chance was half-buried under debris spilling out of one of the damaged containers.

"I'm caught", he shouted. "You've got to get out of here without me!"

"There's no way you're going to leave Chance behind!", Guerrero barked into her ear.

"Go! Now! I can take care of myself!"

"Don't you dare leave!" Guerrero's voice was frighteningly sharp.

"You've got to save the client!" Chance's voice was equally sharp, equally commanding. Through the smoke of the first explosion armed men were approaching. "LEAVE!", Chance yelled at her. "You don't get him out of here fast, he'll die!" The client was moaning pitifully. It was a gut decision and one of the hardest she had ever made. Maureen pitched the aircraft's nose down a little and raised the collective control, causing it to ascend quickly, followed by a barrage of bullets. Chance's face disappeared in thick smoke and darkness.

Back at their HQ Guerrero threw down his earphones in agony and anger.

"It's not her fault", Winston muttered.

"My ass it isn't", Guerrero hissed, face like a snake's.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.**

They had an ambulance already waiting when the helicopter landed fifteen minutes later at the harbor. With the blades still rotating, Guerrero tore open the cabin door, jumped into the cargo hold and yelled: "Twenty minutes!"

"Twenty minutes what?", Maureen yelled back, feeling sick to her stomach from worrying about Chance.

"There's fuel for 50 minutes left in the tank. We need fifteen minutes to the ship and fifteen minutes back from the ship to the mainland. That's twenty minutes left to find Chance somewhere on that goddamn ship and get him into the helicopter. Are you up to the challenge?"

"Thanks for not pointing a gun at my head this time", she replied, adjusting the instruments to take off again.

"That was Plan B."

Winston wanted to object, he wanted to tell them that this was a one way ticket to hell – the thunderstorm was about to reach its peak, radio communication with Chance was completely down, the kidnappers had most likely shot him on sight. But he didn't say any of it. Was he willing to put two more lives at risk for the scant possibility that his friend was still alive?

Yes, he was.

... ... ...

"Guerrero is aboard", Maureen told Winston by radio. They had decided that it was best to drop him off where Maureen had last seen Chance. Maybe, just maybe he had managed to disguise himself in the smoke and debris and the attackers had refrained from looking for him, assuming he had left with the helicopter. Maybe the thunderstorm had helped with that. As a general rule bad guys don't like getting wet. Maybe. Or maybe they had discovered him and were torturing him to death right now in some remote corner of the ship. Guerrero tried not to focus on the second possibility as he approached the burst container.

"We shouldn't have dragged you into this", Winston told Maureen, who was hovering once again under radar in the proximity of the ship, waiting for Guerrero to signal her.

"You didn't", she replied unemotionally. "Last month, when you abducted me from that diner, there I was being dragged into something by you. But this time around it was my own decision and if this goes wrong it'll be my own fault." Underneath her, pitch-black waves surged so high, they seemed to be snapping at the aircraft like jaws of giant hellhounds.

"It wasn't the money we offered, was it?"

"Stuart is a well-paid financial accountant who esteems a modest lifestyle, so thankfully, money isn't something we need to worry about." She threw a critical glance at the torque indicator. Without actually being able to pinpoint it she had the feeling something was wrong with the tail rotor. "I like flying, you know… An MI-8MTV-5… I just couldn't resist…", she added, more to herself than to Winston.

The retired policeman opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. The radio crackled and Guerrero chimed in: "Dude, I know what you're thinking. Don't do it. Not now."

"She's risking her life for us", Winston protested. "She deserves to know."

"When Chance's and my ass are safely off this ship and back on firm ground, maybe. But not NOW."

"You guys realize I'm listening in?", Maureen interjected, curious and a little askance.

A sharp cracking sound indicated that the connection to Guerrero had broken down again. Winston took that as a sign from above. He drew a deep breath. "We knew you wouldn't be able to resist that helicopter. We baited you", he finally confessed.

"Excuse me?"

"Guerrero dug around in your past. He found out about your dad, the ex-SAR pilot who had to take on questionable jobs to make ends meet… . You were barely a teenager when you started working at his side." The big man hesitated. What if she decided to turn the helicopter around and leave them under bare poles? At the moment they pretty much depended on her goodwill and he was seriously putting that at risk with his revelations. He was putting Chance at risk.

And, yes, Guerrero, too.

But on the other hand they owed her... "We also know about …the problems he had… and …the final crash... Chance concluded that you married Stuart Gray to get away from your past. _The Solid Life._ But life on the fast lane leaves a permanent mark on you, especially when exposed to it in one's youth...last month we saw such a damn good pilot… and decided it couldn't hurt to lure you back into your old life just a little… We knew what helicopter you would dig, we knew how vulnerable you would be with your mother-in-law visiting… We played you like a fiddle. I'm sorry."

Silence. Static and silence.

"Maureen?"

More silence. More static.

"For heaven's sake, talk to me!"

"Could you read the latest GPS data on the vessel for me?" She sounded tense.

Winston looked at the monitor and read the figures. His heart skipped a beat. "Jesus Christ, Maureen!"

"Looks like we've got a serious problem here…"

At this very moment, a bright red flare appeared on the cloud laden night sky high above the ship like the eye of an angry dragon.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I do not own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.**

Bringing RPM up to the highest allowable value Maureen let the aircraft climb from the vessel at a rate most pilots under the given circumstances would have considered too dangerously. Winston's words reverberated in her head: _"Last month we saw such a damn good pilot…"._ "Don't you dare give yourself a pat on the shoulder now", she quickly reprimanded herself. "The most difficult task is still lying ahead of you."

"If you don't come up with a different solution fast, I'll have no choice", she told Winston by radio. "You're absolutely right, even under normal circumstances it's considered a dangerous maneuver and in these weather conditions it's almost suicidal, but I don't see any other way." Thunder was rolling so loudly, she could barely hear her own voice.

"What are you talking about?", Chance, flat on his back in the cargo hold and still panting from the sprint he had done on the deck of the container vessel with Guerrero, asked her.

"The storm has moved the ship away from its original position, further towards the open sea. We've got fuel left for fifteen minutes, the mainland is twenty minutes away. I've got no choice but to attempt an emergency landing on the sea – there's an inflatable lifeboat in the back and some life vests. We might make it."

"No", Chance said flatly. "Not an option."

"We're running out of fuel!"

"Take a look at Guerrero!"

Maureen turned around and her heart sank. Guerrero was lying in Chance's arms, a huge crimson spot showing on his wet shirt. His eyes were half-closed and he looked terribly pale. Chance was pressing a bloody cloth against his shoulder area. "I managed to stop the bleeding, but we ditch him into cold water, he'll be dead in a minute." He turned his attention back to his friend "You really shouldn't have taken that bullet for me, man."

"Accident, dude, nothing but an accident."

"Winston, have you heard Chance?" Maureen's heart galloped at top speed. "I've got to touch down on solid ground!"

No answer. Had the radio connection broken off one more time?

"Winston?"

Nothing but static.

"Winston!"

Finally a redeeming crackle and his voice: "Apparently the kidnappers almost killed the buddy of a fisherman before they left with the vessel. He is willing to clear the port with his trawler and come towards you, but in this heavy swell…"

"Tell him to hurry up!", Chance yelled from the back, then addressed Maureen more quietly: "You'll make it."

The next few minutes passed by in complete silence, only interrupted by Winston radioing the trawler's position from time to time. The wind howled madly and shook the aircraft like a kid's toy. Intense rain streamed down the windows and Maureen was getting concerned about the tail rotor again. If she lost that rotor, the engine torque wouldn't be countered anymore and they would start spinning uncontrollably. A low humming sound confirmed her worst fears.

Chance heard it, too. "Don't tell Winston about this noise, it'll only worry him…"

"Yeah, and we don't want to raise his blood pressure, do we?", Maureen replied through clenched teeth. The helicopter had started vibrating immensely and the fuel gage's dark red warning light was blinking at her madly. At this very moment the trawler finally came into view.

Chance came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. "Let's make a pact. Your get us safely down to earth and I get us safely out of this bird."

For the tiniest of moments Maureen allowed herself to dwell on the fact that it had been a long time since anyone had put so much trust in her. Then she dived down with what little engine control she had left, trying everything in her power to somehow reduce the impact of the touchdown far enough to prevent them from crumbling into little pieces. Chance slid open the cabin door, holding on to Guerrero with all his might. "Leave the controls alone!", he ordered her and pulled her out of the seat. "We've got to jump!"

Nothing could have made Winston stay below deck. Ice-cold waves and the pouring rain drenched him within seconds and he was barely able to stand upright, but his eyes never left the approaching aircraft. What he saw froze the blood in his veins: The helicopter hit the deck nose first, tumbled sideways, skidded straight towards the railing, crashed through it and was immediately consumed by the blustering waves.

Endless seconds he heard nothing but the pounding of his own heart, a thousand times louder than the thundering waves and the howling wind. It was so loud, he almost didn't hear the voice that was calling out to him: "What are you waiting for, Christmas? I could need a helping hand here!" Caught in a jumble of the trawler's nets and ropes three huddled figures clung to each other, but one, of course was already on the verge of getting up again.

"He does that all the time...", Winston sighed.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I do not own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.**

"Piece of cake…", Maureen muttered as Winston carried her below deck. For a tiny second she felt reminded of her Dad who had done something similar a million light years ago, after her first experience with a hydroplane. They don't swim automatically, not if you miscalculate the landing angle… Together with the fisherman Winston wrapped the threesome in blankets, or at least tried to since Chance was not willing to be wrapped in any way, shape or form.

"It's a rather deep graze wound, Guerrero lost a lot of blood", he told no one in particular.

"Please tell me his blood type isn't B+", Maureen groaned.

Chance just looked at her. Sighing, she held out her arm. Outside, dawn was breaking and the storm was subsiding. A few minutes later, as her blood floated into Guerrero's body through an improvised tube, he slowly opened his eyes. It took him a moment to completely grasp the situation, then he grinned mischievously.

"Don't you dare say anything about the exchange of body fluids", Maureen warned him.

Guerrero shook his head and his facial expression turned serious. He drew a deep breath. "About that gun-to-your head-issue…"

Both Chance and Winston listened up. An apology from Guerrero?

"A lot of people consider a certain degree of violence sexually attractive and part of a good foreplay…"

Maureen opened her mouth for an undoubtedly angry retort, but before she could utter a word the Airwolf melody sounded again. Thanking their lucky stars for the distraction, Winston quickly handed her her mobile, staring daggers at Guerrero. "We're planning to take on jobs in the future, too. And some of them will require aerial support", he hissed. "I'm pretty sure we screwed up any chance she'll ever want to work for us again anyway, but just in case she would be willing to forget that we dug up her past, used personal information to trick her into this and put her life at risk, could you maybe…?"

"I wouldn't worry", Chance muttered, making sure Maureen couldn't hear him. "We bonded big time today."

"BONDED?" Winston, shouting with a hushed voice. "She almost died today! Several times!"

"Best bonding conditions I can think of."

"And we got her hooked again…", Guerrero rejoined the conversation. "She's brimming with adrenaline now. The effect multiplied by the years of abstinence she went through. Whatever she says today, tomorrow she'll crash. Then she'll want that kick again. Classic cycle of addiction."

Winston shook his head in disgust. "I hate it when you put it like this."

Guerrero shrugged his shoulders: "A capable pilot increases everybody's odds of survival significantly. Does la boca del diablo ring a bell with you?"

Maureen, oblivious to their exchange, meanwhile checked the number on her mobile's display. Sighing, she accepted the call and braced herself against a volley of reproaches. "Stuart, look, I'm sorry…."

A long stretch of silence as she listened to her husband's monologue.

"_What_ happened?"

Another long stretch of silence.

"A five-star chef walked in and cooked dinner for all of you? Five courses? Heather and Fran are _impressed_?"

Silence.

"The chef said he owed somebody a favor? And he appeared a bit scared?" Maureen turned and looked at Guerrero. "I'd say we're even", she murmured. Then it was her husband's turn to talk again. He seemed to be elaborately explaining something far more important than shriveled up fruit under household appliances since Maureen didn't roll her eyes once. On the contrary, her face grew graver by the second.

She looked at Winston, remembering the incident with the hydroplane from so long ago again and her father's arms, tightly embracing her, telling her that everything would be okay. How old had she been back then, twelve?

Then she looked at Chance. What a daredevil he was, facing enormously challenges on a daily basis, seemingly without ruffling a feather. In his SAR days her Dad had been like that.

Finally her gaze rested on Guerrero. Sarcastic, pragmatic, deathly cold Guerrero, a personality shaped by the demands of making it on the not-so-bright side of life. Her father's face in his later years appeared before her mind's eye.

At the moment _her_ blood was flowing into _Guerrero's _veins. But….

After what appeared to be a long moment of deep thoughtfulness she drew a deep, heavy breath and answered the question with which her husband had ended his sermon. "No, I won't go on another last-minute overnight trip ever again. I promise."

Guerrero gave a short sardonic laugh. "Yeah. Seeing is believing…", he muttered.

-the end-


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I do not own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.**

_**AN: This is a bonus chapter, written especially for Angels-heart1, sorry, no complete story, but maybe you'll like this? Thank you for your encouraging words! **_

Maureen's mobile started ringing like an accusing reproach the second she crossed the threshold to the office's kitchen area.

"The dude does have a timing, doesn't he?"

Growling in the direction of Guerrero like a wolf, she grabbed the phone and took the call. "Hello darling…"

"You just can't stop pestering her, can you?", Winston hissed at him.

Grinning to himself, Guerrero laid out a field style medic surgical instrument kit and put on medical rubber gloves.

"Yes, I'm really enjoying myself here… I just went swimming…." Maureen threw a murderous glance at Guerrero. Chance handed her a towel so she could wrap her dripping wet hair up. She had already changed into dry clothes during the drive from the Bay. Guerrero's extra clothes, of course.

"Well, _mine _won't fit you", Chance had said, tongue in cheek.

"And before that, I went jogging." Another murderous glance. She was barefooted now since she had lost her shoes sometime during the jump from the yacht. Or the ensuing struggle under water.

"Ah, yes, and I took a lesson in self-defense." Chance gently laid a hand on her shoulder and motioned her to a chair. As she sat down, Guerrero rolled up the sleeve of her left arm and revealed a long, deep knife cut. He exchanged glances with Winston and Chance, let his gaze rest on Maureen for a moment, then shrugged and started disinfecting the injury.

Maureen let out a sharp cry as the hydrogen peroxide made contact with her raw flesh.

"Nothing, darling, nothing…I'm just painfully sad that this trip I had won was limited to one participant … I would have really liked to have you here…" Guerrero took a freshly tinctured cotton ball and cleaned the upper part of the wound. She cried out again, but at least this time she managed to cover her mobile in time.

"Stuart? I think the connection is breaking down… some malfunction with the provider probably… I'll call you tonight…" She put down her phone.

"I know I said I didn't want to go to a hospital, I just can't risk Stuart reading about a knife wound treatment in our medical bills, but you don't happen to have some kind of sedative at hand?"

The question was directed at Winston, but Guerrero was faster: "'Cause I have – a whole bottle of Rohypnol."

"Okay, forget it, I can ride it out."

"He was making a joke", Winston hectically explained. "It would really be better if you…"

"Yeah, just like Chance was making a joke when he said we would have to dive underneath the yacht to get away from those thugs."

"Don't be ridiculous", Guerrero said, produced a syringe out of nowhere and gave her an injection.

At this very moment Chance's cell phone signaled, indicating that he had received a text message. He read it, looked at Winston and said: "It's Johnson. Apparently he changed his mind. We should get going."

"You better lie down for a while when he's done", Winston told Maureen before leaving.

"Don't worry, I'll take care of that", Guerrero replied, all wolfish smiles.

For a while, silence reigned. Maureen prepared herself for searing pain as his needle broke her skin, but to her utter surprise she felt nothing but some blunt, not bad at all, pressure in that area. The extent and rapidity with which the sedative had worked made her nervous. "You wouldn't really give me something to take advantage of me, would you?"

He looked at her, a smirk playing on his lips. "What I want from you, I don't only want you to give freely, I want you to _beg_ for it."

Suddenly Maureen felt very dizzy and the world turned dark.

It was evening when she woke up again. She was lying on Chance's sofa, covered in blankets, head on a pillow, Carmine standing guard by her side. Her arm was humming slightly and she couldn't fully move it, but she had been through worse, much worse before. A quick check revealed that all her clothes were perfectly in place. Nothing indicated any form of dressing or undressing. The only thing that was new were socks on her feet. Relieved, she sighed and snuggled back underneath the soft, warm blankets.

"Begging", she muttered. "Never…"


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I do not own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.**

"Wow. That's what I call overkill." Guerrero made no attempt to hide his amusement.

Neither did Chance. "How much duct tape exactly did you use?"

"Three rolls. Do you think that was too much?" Ilsa looked uncomfortably at the bundle on the floor.

"And you put a hood on her, too." Ames wasn't quite sure what was going on, but for some reason the guys were having fun and she wasn't going to be left out of it.

"Ilsa, when someone comes to the office it's quite clear he or she already knows the address. Using a hood in this case is kind of redundant." Winston was not having fun.

"I just wanted to be on the safe side."

Ames crouched next to the bundle, trying to get a closer look. "Are that _handcuffs_ underneath the tape?"

"Look, Guerrero called me and told me he left someone sedated in the office and I needed to make sure she didn't go anywhere before he returned. What was I supposed to do?"

Sighing, Winston went down on his knees and removed the hood. Eyes blazing with fury glared at him fiercely. Hoping against hope this would somehow remedy the situation, he decided to do the introductions.

"Mrs. Pucci, this is our pilot, Maureen Gray. Maureen, this is our new boss, Ilsa Pucci."

Ilsa tentatively tried for a friendly smile. She had been educated for a lot of situations, but this definitely wasn't one of them. She experienced this quite often, lately.

"Mrs. Pucci owns a jet and you'll get to fly it", Winston added hastily.

He carefully removed the duct tape that covered Maureen's mouth.

"I'm going to kill him. I swear I will. And I nothing, absolutely nothing…" Her cell phone rang.

Winston quickly cut the duct tape the held her wrists together, but Maureen made no move to take the call. Instead she awkwardly struggled into a sitting position and turned to address Guerrero directly. "You have no idea what you have just done, have you? Heather is pregnant again. And this time she's hell-bent on giving her offspring the most natural birth possible. Originally she planned to have it in a pool with dolphins, till someone told her about germs. So the dolphins got off lucky and guess who is supposed to assist her now because her husband suffers from athlete's foot..."

She heaved a deep sigh before she went into full accusation mode again.

"There's a private medical center here in San Francisco that specializes in these kind of births and today I should have had the first training session with the underwater birth trainer! What in the world shall I tell Stuart? _I'm sorry, I spent the afternoon sedated, hooded and wrapped in duct tape on the floor of a shady security company?_"

The phone stopped ringing. Maureen stared at it for a moment, stared at Guerrero who was staring back at her with a satisfied grin on his face and finally hopped off in the direction of the kitchen, still hindered by a lot of duct tape.

Ilsa was about to follow her when Chance shook his head and took off after her himself.

"This was officially the last time I ever accepted anything to drink or eat from him." Maureen was sitting at the kitchen table, head buried in her hands.

"You realize it's his way of asking, don't you?" Chance sat down opposite from her and unlocked the handcuffs.

"Asking what?"

"Why do you always let your husband bully you into shit you obviously don't want?"


End file.
